


The Night We Met

by Last_Chance_Anna



Series: STAY [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: ...But Not for Long, Arguing, Bearded Steve Rogers, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bisexual Tony Stark, Depression, Dialogue Heavy, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kissing, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Feels, Tony is trying really hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:41:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21679174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Last_Chance_Anna/pseuds/Last_Chance_Anna
Summary: After the events of "Stay", Tony and Steve settle in to spend their first night at the lake house.  It doesn't go how either of them planned.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: STAY [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1543645
Comments: 12
Kudos: 60





	The Night We Met

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick warning...the first half of this story is really just MEH. I probably shouldn't tell you that, but I had a hard time with it when starting out. There was an unexpected POV shift, and I kept trying to make things happen that just weren't happening. When I finally just decided to go with it and get in Tony's head as much as I could, I found it a lot easier to write it. I think the second half is better. At least, I hope it is. I almost scrapped the whole thing, but there are some things set up in this story that weigh very heavily in later stories, so please just bear with me!  
> Also, I tagged it, but there are depictions of depression and an allusion to self-harm here.

The pizza place didn’t want to deliver. Too far away, the guy said. It would cost more in gas than it was worth, the guy said. Oh, and the pie would get cold. He said that as an afterthought, but it came out sounding like an apology.

Tony listened patiently while the guy threw up excuses. “Yeah,” he said, “I know it’s far away, I timed it to the minute.” A pause while the guy spoke, then Tony again, placating and warm, “I’ll pay for the gas.” Pause. “Cold pizza never hurt anybody.”

Steve watched him from across the room. Watched and listened with a little smile playing around his mouth. Tony would get what he wanted, Steve knew that, because Tony always got what he wanted. All he had to do was turn on his charm, speak in a certain tone of voice, laugh a certain way. Steve almost felt sorry for the guy on the phone because Steve knew he had absolutely no chance against Tony. He was just glad the guy wasn’t here in the room. One look in Tony’s eyes, one glimpse of that smile, that tiny tilt of his head, and he’d be begging to do Tony Stark’s bidding. He’d be all but licking Tony’s palm.

Steve felt a little bad about that thought as soon as it was fully formed in his mind. The phone-guy wasn’t the only one who would buckle under the weight of Tony’s charisma. As Steve looked at Tony’s face, the soft mouth, the drawn eyebrows, he knew Tony would buckle, himself. He did it all the time.

“I know, this economy’s hard on everyone,” Tony said solemnly into the phone. “It’s the small businesses that get hit the hardest.” He walked past Steve, prowling the room with his phone in his hand, his eyes far away. He was, Steve was sure, conjuring a mental picture of his new-found confidante. Giving him a face, a persona, hell, a _name_ , if he didn’t know it already. To Tony, this wasn’t just another voice on a phone linked to him only by the wire that stretched the thirty-two miles that separated them. He was a man with a wife, four kids, a dog, a mortgage, a stack of bills. A man worried about Jenny’s braces and Tom’s baseball camp. Maybe this hadn’t always been the case with Tony. “Philanthropist” hadn’t always been on his resumé, but it was now. After Afghanistan, after Sokovia, and especially after Thanos. They all had faces now. They all had names and stories. They weren’t just voices on the phone anymore. They were people.

“I’d be happy to talk to the Chamber of Commerce,” Tony offered, doing the head-tilt that usually sealed the deal, unconsciously. “My friend and I will be here for at least a few months. We should be involved in the town’s recovery.”

Tony looked at Steve and pulled a guilty face. _Sorry_ , he mouthed.

Steve smiled and shook his head. They’d been at the lake house for nine hours. Tony had held out longer than Steve had expected.

Tony grinned back--the same old Stark grin. “About that pizza…” he said, listened, then gave Steve a thumbs-up. “That sounds great, Frank. We’ll be here.” He ended the call, tossed his phone onto the couch, and shrugged. “Pizza in an hour.”

“And all you had to do for it was...what?” Steve asked, teasing but curious.

“Aww, you know.” Tony shrugged again. “Not much.”

“A speech to the Chamber of Commerce?”

“Not really a _speech_ \--”

“‘Recovery of the town’?”

“Come on, Steve, we should do our part--”

“Did I hear you say your first-born? Or was it just three pints of your blood?”

“Alright, alright, smartass,” Tony said, flapping a hand at him. “I thought we’d established that you are not funny.”

“No, we decided that I was a little bit funny.”

Tony sauntered closer and ran a hand through Steve’s hair. It was both longer and darker than when they’d met, but it felt wonderfully soft beneath his fingers, like silk. “I don’t remember that part, at all,” he said, and Steve looked up at him through dark lashes.

“We’d better get your memory checked, then, huh?” he said quietly, and grasped Tony’s fingers almost shyly. He tugged them and Tony leaned down. It didn’t take much--even seated, Steve was still a big guy--and pressed a kiss against his mouth.

“Guess we better,” he said, and straightened. Tony ran a distracted hand through his own hair and brushed his thumb across Steve’s knuckles. “Yeah,” he continued, “we probably should get something checked. I called you ‘my friend’.” He huffed a rueful little laugh, his eyes flitting around the room, lighting on Steve’s for only a second before darting away again. “That was an asshole thing to do. I’m sorry.”

Steve blinked. Confusion dimmed his smile but didn’t lessen its charm. Tony’s heart ached, doing a little double-flip inside his chest. “What’s wrong with that?” Steve asked. “We are friends. Aren’t we?”

Tony shrugged. “Yeah, of course we are, but…”

“But what?”

The puzzlement furrowing his brow was too much. Tony chuckled and shook his head. “But nothing,” he said, and kissed Steve again.

It was just a warm kiss, soft and friendly, his fingers reaching up to stroke the beard on Steve’s cheek. Steve hummed with contentment. _Enjoy it now, Rogers_ , Tony thought.

“What are you smiling at?”

Tony shrugged. “I was just thinking. About later. After dinner.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve said. “What about it?”

“I don’t know,” he answered, openly stroking his cheek now. Tony’s fingers traced from just under Steve’s ear, down his cheek to his chin, then switched to the other side and let them follow the same path. “Seems like someone promised they’d do something tonight.”

Steve took his hand and kissed the fingers, then all big-eyed innocence, “I don’t remember that part, at all.”

“Then I’m not the only one who’s getting their memory checked.”

“It’d save time if they just checked us together, I guess,” Steve said, hooking a finger through Tony’s belt loop. It was an easy gesture, one filled with a quiet possessiveness that sent a shockwave through Tony’s entire body. _Mine_ , that gesture said. _This one’s mine_ , and he kicked himself internally for calling Steve his “friend” again. Steve wasn’t his friend, not anymore, despite what he’d just said, and that finger through his belt loop said Steve knew it too. They may not know what to call it, but “friend” just wouldn’t cut it anymore. At least not here in this house where it was just the two of them alone together.

Not that it mattered. Not right now, anyway. Right now, all that mattered was Steve’s proximity and his eyes and his silly little joke. Tony stepped closer, slotting one of Steve’s knees between his legs. Not touching him, oh no, god, not yet, but making both of them very aware of the other’s presence.

"Yeah," he said, not even really remembering what Steve had said, just agreeing to agree with him. Saying yes just to please him. Saying yes so he could get used to it. He planned on saying yes a lot. And the look in Steve's eye said that had been the right choice.

Tony smoothed his hand along Steve’s brow. There had been bruising there after Thanos, but it had faded now. “Any more headaches?” he asked.

“No. They’re gone.”

“Are you sure? Shuri said they might last for a while.”

“Nah. The last one was...four days ago, I guess. The night after we left Wakanda.”

“You didn’t come get me?”

Steve’s lips slanted in a tired smile. “It wasn’t that bad. I handled it.”

“I could have helped.”

“You did,” he said, removing Tony’s hand from his head. “I knew you were in the next room if I needed to come get you. That helped.

“Not the same thing, Cap.”

Steve sighed. “I gotta do some of this on my own,” he said simply.

Tony knocked his knee against Steve’s gently and shook him by the shoulders. “Just so you know you don’t have to do it _all_ alone.”

“I let you push me around all afternoon like an invalid,” Steve protested.

Tony pressed closer and brushed a kiss to Steve’s unblemished forehead. “You’re not an invalid,” he said. “The last thing in the world you are is an invalid. You’re the opposite of invalid. You’re...valid.” He kissed his forehead again, then tipped Steve’s face up to his. “Very, very valid,” he said, and kissed him, letting his tongue slip inside Steve’s mouth and slide against Steve’s own.

Steve let him linger for a bit, then pulled back. “Your pizza’s coming soon,” he reminded him.

“I almost forgot.”

Steve laughed. “You’d better not forget. Four pints of your blood, was it?”

Tony stepped away, relinquishing Steve’s closeness and heat reluctantly. “Ha. Ha. You’re hilarious.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver lighter. T.S. was engraved on it in a swirl of scrollwork. He’d had it since he was seventeen. Had used it to light cigarettes, and hash-pipes, and on more than one occasion, used it to cook heroin in a silver spoon. He didn’t use it much anymore. The last time had been to light candles on some politician’s kid’s birthday cake, but he kept it with him. Not as a good-luck charm, but as a way to remember how far he’d come since he got it. Now he tossed it unceremoniously to Steve who caught it one-handed.

“I’m going to go change. Think you can get a fire started, city boy?”

Steve flicked it open, snapped a flame, then closed it again. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Really?” Tony cocked a skeptical brow then shook his head. “Go on, then, soldier. Make me proud.”

Tony went into the bedroom and stripped his t-shirt off. The bedroom, he thought as he turned the shower on and stepped under the spray. _The_ meaning _one_ , meaning _only_. Steve had toured the cabin, wheeling easily through the lower level, looking at the stone fireplace, the rough-hewn mantle, the butcher-block counters in the kitchen. He’d smiled at the avocado green appliances--old but still in pristine condition--with Tony’s stainless-steel espresso maker cozied up next to them. It should have felt anachronistic, but somehow it didn’t. Somehow, it felt just right.

He’d wheeled into the bedroom, just glancing at the maple armoire and large, quilt-covered bed, before making sure the chair would fit into the bathroom. Tony knew it would, had measured it three times himself, but let Steve check on his own. When Tony asked him if it was okay, Steve had just smiled and said it was perfect.

Perfect.

But now a fledgling worry bloomed inside his chest. They had never specifically discussed sleeping arrangements. And there was a second-floor loft. There wasn’t a bed up there, but there were some comfy-looking couches. Steve couldn’t see them from below, but Tony had told him that. Exactly that. “Two comfy-looking couches,” not thinking for a moment that maybe Steve assumed that’s where Tony planned to sleep.

“Fuck,” Tony muttered under his breath as he climbed out of the shower and toweled off. Because, of course, he hadn’t planned on sleeping on the couch. He’d planned on sleeping here, right here in this bed with Steve beside him.

You know, Steve, his _friend_.

“Double-fuck,” Tony said, louder this time.

“Did you say something?” Steve called from the living room.

“Yeah,” Tony called back. “I said…” His mind whirled like a dervish, trying witty answers and discarding them like a Las Vegas dealer shuffling a poker deck. “Double-fuck.”

“Umm,” Steve said, casting a confused/amused eye on him as he came back into the living room and plopped down on a chair. “Okay. Why?”

“I--” _stubbed my toe_ …? “Don’t know.”

“Are you okay?” he asked, the confusion/amusement still paramount, but concern edging into the equation.

Tony laughed a little and shook his head. “I guess?” He scrubbed a hand through his damp hair. “Christ, Steve, I don’t know. It’s been a long few weeks. I’m tired.”

Steve nodded. “I know. Let’s just eat and go to bed, okay? I’m tired too.”

“Bed sounds good.”

“Yeah. But pizza first, right?” Steve asked. “I’m starving.”

“Yes. Pizza first.”

Steve wheeled himself to the chair where Tony sat. The concern had taken over. Three vertical lines appeared between his brows as he frowned. He reached up and cupped Tony’s cheek. “You sure you’re okay? You’re acting weird all of a sudden.”

Tony leaned forward and put his forehead against Steve’s knee. Then there was a hand on the back of his neck. It was large and warm and soothing. He’d been afraid of that hand once, not too long ago. And he’d had a right to be. That hand had beaten him, had smashed against his face, had nearly killed him. How could it be that it stroked his skin with such tenderness now? Such gentle, slow sweeps of a thumb across the top of his spine, such soft caresses through his hair? Tony didn’t know. Didn’t care. He just wanted it to go on forever, and that knowledge gave him courage.

He sat up and fixed Steve with a wry look. “We didn’t talk about it, but,” he jerked his head toward the open bedroom door, “are we, like, sleeping together? In there?”

Steve blinked. His fine mouth turned down. “I--” he began, then stopped. He ran a hand through his hair then gestured weakly at his chair. “I’m not going to be climbing those stairs,” he said, “but if you want me to sleep out here, I could probably--”

Relief coursed through him and he leaned forward, capturing Steve’s mouth with a kiss. “No,” he said. “I want you in there. With me.”

The lines were back, uncertainty painted in broad, dark strokes across his face. “Are you sure? I mean, I thought that was...I shouldn’t have just assumed...”

“No,” Tony said, the word coming out on a breath that was nearly laughter. “Baby, you should have assumed. Hell, _I_ assumed, then I got in there and realized we hadn’t talked about it.” He smoothed his hand over Steve’s chest, feeling the muscles underneath the soft weave of his sweater. “And I was afraid you thought I’d brought you here just for,” he cocked an eyebrow, “nefarious purposes.”

“Did you?” Steve asked, gazing up at him from under his lashes again, and how could he look so sexy and so innocent at the same time? Tony wondered.

His fingers drifted down Steve’s chest to the waistband of his jeans. They touched the button and moved across it, idly toying with it. “Well,” Tony said, “not _just_ for nefarious purposes.”

Steve sighed, looking as if he were trying very hard to let himself be convinced. “Really?” he asked. “‘Cause I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’d never want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m comfortable.”

“If you’d rather wait until I’m better, I’d understand. I’ve slept on way worse than that couch.”

Tony threw his head back and rolled his eyes with all the flair of a silent-age actress in a penny-dreadful. “You’re killing me, Steve. Seriously. Stop being so insecure about this chair. I don’t even see it.”

“I know,” Steve said, ducking his head. His thumb came up to his mouth and he chewed the already-ragged nail. “It just...reminds me of before.”

“Before what?” Tony asked, honestly confused.

“Before the serum.”

Realization crashed into his body. He felt stupid. He should have known. Why hadn’t he known?

“Steve--” he began, then stopped as a flurry of knocks sounded against the door.

Both men jolted. Steve’s shoulders came up, snapping to attention, his jaw clenched, fire and fear burned in his blue eyes, darkening them. At the same time, Tony’s fingers flexed, and he found himself on his feet, waiting for the suit to appear around him. They locked eyes and Tony read his own thoughts on Steve’s face. _Danger. Battle. Blood_.

Tony came back first. He breathed in and lowered his hand. His body eased and he tried to smile. “Steve,” he said, and watched as the fight drained out of him. The tension went out of his shoulders. The fire left his eyes and what replaced it was a despair so great it made Tony stumble back a step. Never had he seen a look so filled with hopelessness, a look so broken and empty. Even on his worst days after Afghanistan, after the wormhole, when he thought he’d rather just die, he’d never felt the way Steve looked now.

Steve ducked his head, hiding it from Tony. “Get your pizza, Tony,” he said in a voice that was too husky, too raw.

“Steve--”

“Just...please.”

Tony went to get his pizza.

As he opened the door and greeted the star-struck kid, he heard the chair whisper across the floorboards. He heard the back door open, then close.

Tony paid the kid what he’d agreed over the phone then tucked an extra fifty into the kid’s pocket and laid a finger to his own lips. “This can stay between us, ‘kay?” he said, and the boy’s smile grew impossibly wider.

“Yes sir, Mr. Stark. Whatever you say, Mr. Stark,” he said, and that reminded him of Peter, and he smiled back. He’d invite Peter up sometime, too. When Steve was feeling better.

“On your way now, kid,” he said. “Be careful driving back in the dark, yeah?”

“Yes sir, Mr. Stark.”

He stumbled down the stairs and back out to his car, a crappy little Chevelle, and Christ, Tony wanted to get his hands on _that_ , could already see how beautiful it could be. Maybe the kid could be persuaded to sell it. 

Tony waved as he drove away, then took the pizza inside and set it on the table. The box was still warm, and it smelled heavenly, but it barely registered as he crossed the room and opened the back door.

There was a long deck jutting out from the back of the house. Some worn but serviceable furniture and the grill Tony had sent up from the city took up most of the space, but there was still plenty of room to move around, and Steve had wheeled his chair to the edge. The view of the lake was unobstructed from here. The trees had been trimmed away and there was a lawn leading down to the beach. There were a few lights in the distance, bright ones at the ends of the docks that led into the lake. They had one too, just as bright.

_Jesus Christ, I’m Gatsby,_ Tony thought. _But my Daisy’s right here._

“Hey,” he said. “Soup’s on.” When Steve didn’t respond, he halved the distance between them. “We should get one of those old-timey dinner bells that the cowboy guys used to have. You know, the guys on the whadoyoucallems, with those triangle things?”

He moved closer, and now he could see the hard, stubborn look in Steve’s eyes, and he braced himself because he’d seen it before. More than once. “I know that look,” he said. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“This isn’t going to work,” Steve said flatly.

Tony sighed.

“I wanna go back to New York.”

Tony leaned against the railing. He was near enough to touch Steve, but he didn’t do it. “Why?”

“My stuff’s still packed. You can drop me at that place Doctor Strange set up, or I can get a cab or something.”

“And then what?”

“And then nothing.”

Tony nodded slowly. “And what am I supposed to do?”

Steve shrugged. “Go back to work. They still need you. I know Fury wants you back. I heard him ask you.”

He had asked. In Steve’s room in Wakanda. Steve had been in and out, delirious most of the time from pain meds. Fury had stopped in, sat by Steve’s bedside for eight hours, then right before he left, he’d asked Tony to come back. To be an Avenger again.

“There are still threats out there, Stark,” he’d said. “We need to neutralize them before they become too big to handle.” His eyes had gone to Steve’s sleeping form, small in the hospital bed. “We’re already a man down, and I don’t think Barton’s coming back. We need you.”

Tony said no. But not right away. There had been a pause, a pregnant, silent, thirty-second pause while he considered it. While he weighed the world against a quiet life with Steve. Thirty seconds had not seemed like a long time to him, but to Steve, who had apparently not been sleeping, it must have felt like an eternity.

“I don’t want to go back.”

Steve nodded. “I’ll take a cab, then. I’ll call in the morning.”

“Are you really that selfish?” Tony asked, knowing it was harsh, knowing it was the one thing that would shake him up, and it did. 

Steve looked at him, anger and guilt bright in his eyes. Tony was thrilled to see it. Thrilled to have anything take the place of that cold emptiness. Even if Steve left, as long as he left feeling _something_ , it was better than the despair Tony had seen on his face earlier.

“I’m doing this for you, you know,” Steve snapped.

“Because I’ve made it so clear I don’t want you around.”

“No, you want me around,” Steve agreed. “‘Cause you need a project. You need something to fix.”

“That’s bullshit, Steve, and you know it.”

“Do I?” he asked. “‘Cause I don’t think so. I think if you’re not working, you go crazy. There’s so much in your head, so much stuff in there, if you don’t have something to focus on you start to fall to pieces.” He was talking faster now, the words spilling out of him. “You’ve got the biggest heart of anybody I ever met,” Steve went on, “but I’m not an MIT grad student. I’m not a small-town pizza man. I’m not a-a _pangolin_ ,” he sputtered.

“What the fuck is a pangolin?”

Steve gave him a withering stare. “It doesn’t matter. I’m trying to say that I’m not one of your _causes_ , Tony.”

“Seriously?” Tony said. “Seriously, Steve? That’s what you think of me?” He laughed, the sound cruel in his own ears. “Well, I guess I’m flattered that you think I have the stamina to fuck all of my ‘causes’ like I was planning on fucking you.”

Steve flushed at that and dropped his head into his hand. His long fingers rubbed at his temples. “That’s not what I meant,” he said gruffly.

“What did you mean?”

Steve was silent for a long time, just sitting with his head in his hand, his blue eyes closed. Tony didn’t prompt him, but he did watch him. He watched the slight rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. He watched his hair move in the breeze that blew around them. He watched him and loved him and kicked a lightning-quick prayer out to the universe that Steve would get over this. He couldn’t be without him again. Not now. Not ever again. And it was partly because Steve was right. He _did_ have too much in his head. He _did_ tend to fall apart when he had no outlet. Steve kept him sane. Not by being something broken that he needed to fix, though. It was actually the opposite. When he was with Steve, everything just seemed simpler. He didn’t need to fix Steve. When they were together, it felt like Steve was fixing him.

“I didn’t mean that like it sounded,” Steve said. He spoke slowly now, carefully, as if choosing his words with the greatest of care. He still hadn’t raised his head, though. He looked at his lap. Tony longed to see his eyes. They were exquisitely expressive and said the things his voice never would, but he was denied that for now.

“I guess I can kind of see why you liked me before,” Steve said suddenly, and the change in subject made Tony feel a little dizzy.

“What?”

Steve shrugged one shoulder. “I was strong. Direct. I tried to do the right things.” He swallowed, Tony saw it in the glow of the moonlight, the bob of his Adam’s apple a shifting shadow. “I’m not the smartest guy in the world, but I’m not stupid. And…” he shifted uncomfortably, “I know what I look like,” he finished with reluctance and something that was very nearly distaste, as if the thought of his own good looks was something to be ashamed of rather than admired.

“But I tried to tell you earlier, Tony, that’s not me now.” He looked up at last. His eyes were sad and terribly empty. “I’m not worth your time.” Tony winced and Steve nodded like he had agreed with him. “I don’t have anything to offer you. Not anymore.”

Tony slid along the railing until he was directly in front of Steve. He put one foot on either side of Steve’s, bookending them. He folded his arms over his chest and leaned forward a bit, getting into Steve’s space but not enough to frighten him. As big as he was, as tough, he could be as skittish as a newborn colt. Tony gauged his boundaries and erred on just the right side of too close. He was good at it. He should be, he’d been doing it for the last decade of his life.

“You’re talking about Captain America,” he said softly. “Not you.”

“It’s the same thing.”

“No,” Tony said, shaking his head. “No, no, it’s not.” He moved one sneakered foot until it rested against Steve’s. He didn’t know if he could feel it, but it was a good place to start, an initial point of contact. “Do you know when I first thought there might be something between us?”

“No.”

Tony shifted until he felt his other instep against Steve’s foot. “We’d had a fight. Shocking, right? It was totally my fault. They usually are.”

“That’s not true.”

“Quiet, you, I’m telling a story,” Tony said, and the corner of Steve’s mouth lifted a fraction of an inch. “So, after this fight, you came down to the lab. I didn’t want to let you in, but FRIDAY kept talking you up, which was fucking annoying.” 

Another fraction of an inch, and was that amusement or even warmth in his eyes again? God, Tony hoped so.

“So, finally, I told her to open the door just to shut her up. But I ignored you. I wasn’t mad at you, I just wanted to see how long you’d stand there with those goddamn puppy-dog eyes before you said anything.”

“I don’t have puppy-dog eyes.”

“Oh,” Tony laughed, “yes, you do. And they’re lethal, baby, let me tell you.”

“Don’t call me that. We’re fighting, remember?”

Tony squeezed his knees together against Steve’s, trapping him. “I remember,” he said dismissively. “Anyway, you apologized. Do you believe that? _You_ apologized to _me_ , even though I’d been the one acting like an asshole.”

“I was as much to blame.”

Tony cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t think so. You must be thinking of a different fight.”

“No. I remember.”

“You hurt your hands,” Tony said, and ran one finger over the knuckles of Steve’s right hand. “They didn’t really need a bandage, but I kinda just wanted to touch you. I never really had before, and I was curious.”

“It was nice.”

Tony nodded, his finger gently stroking Steve’s unmarked skin. “It was nice. It was really nice. Do you remember what happened then?”

“Yeah, you made fun of me.”

He laughed. “Can you blame me? I’d never been asked out worse. If that makes sense.”

“Give me a break. I’d never really done it before.”

“I believe that. But I still said yes, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did.”

“And we acted like it wasn’t a date, but I think we both kind of wondered if it was a date. Didn’t we?”

Steve nodded, and Tony gripped his hands with both of his. Steve squeezed back.

“You know, I worried all night about what I would do if you kissed me. Every time you held the door for me or brushed up against me, I thought you might do it.” He smiled and sighed. “I was a fucking wreck by the time we got home. You were tearing me apart, you jerk.”

“You were with Pepper then,” Steve said. “I couldn’t. I wanted to, though, Tony. I really did.”

“I know I was. And I thought that might be the reason. Later. When I _could_ think again.”

“Of course, it was. Nat told me the night before that I should tell you how I was feeling, but I couldn’t. Not while you were with her. It wouldn’t have been right. And it wouldn’t have been right to kiss you either.” He swallowed again, and even in the moonlight, Tony could see a blush coloring his cheeks. “I held your hand, though.”

“What? When? I think I’d remember that.”

The blush deepened across Steve’s cheeks. God, Tony adored that pale, Irish skin. “You fell asleep on the couch while we were watching that dumb movie, and I just sort of did it.” He looked down at their linked hands, then back up at Tony. “I knew I shouldn’t, but I just...wanted to.” He fixed Tony with a glum expression, looking like an eight-year-old with his hand caught in the old proverbial cookie jar. “I’m sorry.”

Tony squeezed Steve's hands again. “I’m all about consent, Cap, one-hundred-percent a go for consent, but you don’t have to apologize for holding my hand ten or whatever years ago. In fact, I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t awake when you did it.”

“Me too,” Steve sighed, and Tony matched him, letting out a breath and slipping off the railing. He grabbed one of the patio chairs and eased down onto it. He touched Steve’s arm, his shoulder, cupped a hand around the back of his neck, his thumb caressing the smooth muscle there, as he drew him closer. Steve came willingly.

“Where’d this come from all of a sudden, huh?” Tony whispered, his lips against Steve’s cheek. “We were getting along so well.”

“It’s not that sudden,” he mumbled.

“It is to me. Saying all that bad stuff about yourself. If you were anybody else, I’d punch you in the face for smack-talking my man.”

Steve laughed shortly. “Stop it,” he breathed. “Stop doing that. That’s what I’m talking about. You’re too good for me.”

“You’re wrong. Nothing’s too good for you. Literally nothing. God himself could come down and claim your ass and it still wouldn’t be good enough.”

“Never happen. I don’t think Thor’s even into guys.”

Tony laughed. “You were right. You’re a little bit funny.”

Steve’s smile was small and sad. “Doesn’t change anything, though. I’ve been Captain America for...ever. Sometimes it feels like I was born with that shield in my hands.” He looked into Tony’s face, his eyes pleading silently. “And I love it. God help me, Tony, I _love_ it. But look at me. Even after the serum’s done its job, I’ll never have the mobility I had before. Shuri and Doctor Strange were very kind but very honest.” He blinked, but the tears still formed. They shone like diamonds in the moon’s soft glow. “It’s over.”

Tony smoothed his thumb under the delicate skin beneath his eye. “Steve, baby, I’m sorry.”

“I know what I said this morning, Tony, but you should have just left me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“No, it’s true. I would’ve--” he swallowed again, “--died a hero. That’s what I was meant for. That was my moment.” His face was soft but undeniable. “You should have let him kill me.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Tony said and pulled himself up from the chair’s depths and perched on the edge. He reached for Steve’s hand and held it between both of his own, marveling at the heat that came off it, how just holding his hand was enough to warm his entire body from the inside out. “Seriously. Don’t. I don’t like hearing you say stuff like that.” He ran his finger over Steve’s jaw, then over his plush lower lip. “Please, okay? I need you.”

“You don’t, though, Tony,” he said. “You’re fine without me.”

Tony sighed and smiled sadly. “I’m really not. You know, I get that you don’t want to feel like you’re one of my ‘causes’,” he said, looking into the sea-blue depths of Steve’s eyes, “but the thing is, baby, I kind of like being one of yours.”

“What do you mean?”

“You take care of me,” he said simply. “And not just feeding me and clothing me and making sure I take a shower, although, Christ knows, you’ve done all those things.”

Steve smiled.

“I mean, challenging me. Grounding me. Letting me know I’m full of shit when I’ve reached the limit.”

“Bruce does that. Nat too.”

“Not like you. It’s not because of a mission when you do it, Steve. It’s not out of concern for the greater good. It’s for _me_. It’s because you’re concerned about _me_.”

“We’re all concerned about you, Tony. We love you. None of us ever want to see you hurting, you mean too much--why are you smiling like that?”

“You just keep talking, Cap,” Tony said. “Every word you say is proving my point.”

Steve shrugged. “Every word I’m saying is true.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. You care so goddamn much. Not just about me,” he said, then ran a possessive hand up Steve’s arm, “but it always felt like maybe you cared about me more than the average Avenger.”

“Maybe a little.”

“Just a little?”

“Don’t press your luck, mister.”

“Whatever you say,” Tony said. He settled his hand on Steve’s cheek, feeling the beard and wishing selfishly that he was feeling Steve’s smooth skin under his palm instead. “I’ve grown very accustomed to having you around, Steve Rogers. I don’t think I can do it without you now.” Tony slid his fingers into Steve’s hair and tugged it affectionately. “And I know I don’t want to.”

“But what do I do with myself?” Steve asked. It was a big question, maybe the only question right now, but Tony’s heart felt extraordinarily light. That hopeless cast was gone from Steve’s eyes. His face was open again, trusting, ready to be happy. Tony had no illusions. There was a deep-seated depression there, and eventually Steve would need someone to talk to about it--someone with a few degrees on the wall and a string of letters after their name--but Tony thought they’d made it over this particular hump, at least for tonight. He felt a bright flash of pride. In Steve. In himself. In them.

“Well, first, you get better,” he said, “and you enjoy the rest of this vacation.” He tilted his head. “Unless you’re still planning on going back to New York tomorrow?”

Steve shook his head, smiling a little.

“Good. Because I didn’t want to bring this up, but New York’s a cesspool.”

“Hey,” Steve protested sharply.

“I don’t make the news, baby, I just report it. It’s noisy and smoggy and people throw their trash on the ground and piss on the subway.”

Steve shook his head again. “Well, you’re a little scruffy too, but I still like you.”

Tony ran his finger over Steve’s cheek. “Speaking of scruffy.”

“You never give up, do you?”

“Never.” He stood up. “Come on. Let’s go eat. I can hear your stomach grumbling.”

“Okay.”

Steve started to wheel after Tony, then stopped. “Chuckwagon,” he said.

“Huh?”

“The cowboy guys with the triangle things,” he said, his shoulders lifting in an embarrassed shrug. “It’s called a chuckwagon.”

“Beauty _and_ brains?” Tony mused. “How’d I get so lucky?”

Steve flushed. Tony _really_ adored that Irish skin. “Shut up, Tony.”

He opened the door and held it while Steve rolled past. “Maybe next you’ll finally tell me what a pangolin is.”

“Don’t make fun.”

“I’m not,” he said, locking the door behind him. “I’m dying to know.”

Steve shook his head and opened the pizza box. “Google it,” he said. “Should we warm this up?”

“If you’re going to, do it in the oven. Microwaved pizza is against my religion.”

“I know.” He wheeled into the kitchen and turned the oven on. “What religion is that, anyway?”

Tony shrugged. “Whichever one bans microwaved pizza. I’m flexible.”

“News to me.”

“Well, maybe not as much as when I was twenty, but I still do okay,” he said and put plates on the table. “Lucky for you.”

“God, you’re a flirt.”

“Again, lucky for you. Where’s the lighter?”

“On the mantle.”

Tony stopped in front of the hearth and swiped his lighter from the mantle. A cheery fire crackled away, and he blinked at it in wonder before tossing another log onto it. “You got it started,” he said. “You really are a boy scout.”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “Not exactly.”

“How’d you know how to start that? Summer camp?”

Steve laughed. Tony smiled as he rummaged in the cupboard for candles and sat them on the table. “There wasn’t any summer camp for guys like me, Tony,” he said. “Least not back then. I guess now they do stuff like that for the poor kids, but we were left to shift for ourselves back then.”

“We say ‘under-privileged’ now,” Tony said, a trifle defensively, and Steve nodded.

“Right. Sorry.”

“So, did you learn in the army?”

“Nah. Me and Bucky.” He shrugged. “We started fires sometimes.”

“Like in the park?”

“Like in abandoned buildings.”

Tony stopped with the flame still an inch away from the nearest wick. “You what?”

“We always put ‘em out.” He paused. “After a while.”

“Wow, Steve,” Tony said, finally applying the flame. “I had no idea you were such a little youthful offender.”

“It was just kid stuff.”

“You ever burn down one of those buildings with your ‘kid stuff’? Do I need to jack up the insurance on this place?”

Steve glared and took the pizza out of the oven. It really did smell good.

Undeterred, Tony came into the kitchen. Steve was still at the stove and Tony crowded up against the back of the chair. He leaned over him, pressing against his shoulder. “Let me know if you get any ideas, ‘kay?” he said against Steve’s ear. “We don’t want you starting any fires you can’t put out.”

Tony took the pizza with one hand and trailed the other softly and deliberately across Steve’s throat. He was rewarded with a ragged sigh and a glimpse of Steve’s pink tongue as it left his mouth to wet his lips. He closed his eyes, too, and kept them closed as Tony took the pizza back to the table and sat it down next to FRIDAY’s daisies. Kept them closed as Tony adjusted the plates and napkins. Kept them closed while Tony snapped off the light, leaving the room in a deep semi-darkness, lit only by the warm glow of the candles and the shifting red-orange or the fire crackling in the large stone hearth.

A flush of gratification ran the length of Tony’s body-- _Still got it, Stark._ “Steve? Dinner.”

Steve opened his eyes in the shadows. “I’m coming, Tony,” he said, and even though the context was all wrong, the words sent a jolt of hot desire through Tony’s core.

Tony nudged the pizza. “Have some of this, first,” he said, his voice a bed-ready whisper. “You’re starving, remember?”

“Right.”

\---

They sat in silence for a bit, the pizza hot and good--not New York good, Steve thought, but good. Some of that sexual charge had leached away, leaving a mix of sensuality and contentment in its wake.

Tony touched his wine glass, running his finger around the rim, his eyes finding Steve’s over the flickering candles. “Have we ever done this?”

“Umm,” Steve said, thinking. “I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure?” Tony asked.

“We’ve eaten in restaurants together, he said, “but just you and me? Alone like this?” he shook his head.

“Doesn’t that seem a little strange? That we’ve known each other this long and have never done this?”

Steve tore a long strip from the corner of his napkin. “I don’t know. We haven’t always been on the best terms.”

“I guess that’s true,” Tony agreed. “But that seems strange now, too.”

Steve smiled in the low light. He was back-lit by the guttering fire, his face bathed in candlelight. He appeared both ephemeral and earthy, like one of the fae come to life. “We have come a long way.”

Tony reached toward him languidly, not touching him, trying not to, to make his point. “But you’re still all the way over there.”

Steve balled up the rest of his napkin. “We should clean up.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling his little Cheshire Cat smile, “nobody ever accused me of that.” He picked up his plate, sat it in his lap, then took Tony’s. “Come on, check the locks and put out the candles. I’ll do these.”

“Yes, dear,” Tony said, and got to his feet.

Steve ran water in the sink and dumped the dishes in. “Besides,” he said, raising his voice so Tony could hear him, “there’s always somebody hanging around the Tower. Either that, or we all go out together. Not much chance for alone-time.”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, rattling the door handle to humor Steve. “We’ll have to do something about that when we go back.”

Steve frowned. “Like what?”

“Kick ‘em out.”

“Tony,” he warned.

“They’ve got to leave the nest sometime, Steve.”

Steve rummaged in the water and pulled out the last fork. He rinsed it and put it in the drainer with the rest. “You’re not really going to kick them out, right?” he asked as Tony entered the kitchen.

“You miss them, don’t you?” he asked, and hopped onto the counter, his feet dangling, bumping against the cupboards with soft thuds of his heels.

Steve shrugged, guiltily.

“Have you had any messages from them?”

Steve took his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through. “Three,” he said.

“That’s about--”

“From Sam. Two from Wanda. _Four_ from Clint, but this one might have been an accident.” He tapped the screen. “Oh, _whoa_ ,” he exclaimed, “yeah, that was probably supposed to go to Laura. I’ll just delete that.”

Tony watched him go through his messages feeling a happy tug at his heart. He was grateful, so fucking grateful to the others for sending messages, for calling--”Peter called twice, Tony, we’d better get in touch tomorrow.”--for letting Steve know they still needed him. That was huge right now. As much as Tony wanted Steve to himself, wanted to sequester him away from the world at large, this outpouring of love from their friends meant just as much to Steve as anything Tony could do for him. And the very fact that he could think that with no jealousy made him all the happier.

“I told Nat to come up in July,” Tony said. “Is that too long? We can have them up before.”

Steve turned his phone off and shoved it carelessly into his pocket. He laid one hand on Tony’s knee and scratched it lightly with his short nails. “No,” he answered. “July’s soon enough.”

“You sure?”

“Sure, I’m sure,” he said and gazed up at Tony again. “Long as you’re here.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Okay.”

Tony reached for him, barely touching him before Steve wheeled back. “I think I’ll go shower,” he said.

“Yell if you need anything.”

“I will.”

Tony watched him go, then after he was out of sight, closed his eyes and leaned his head against the upper cabinets, training his ears on Steve’s progress. He heard the whisper of the chair, the opening of the linen cabinet, Steve’s muttered, “Fuck,” as something fell--Tony smiled at that, indescribably proud of his bad influence--then the cabinet door closing again.

Once he heard the rattle of the shower curtain and the tinny thunder of water, he slid off the counter. He didn’t feel slighted by Steve’s attempts to keep him at bay over the last hour. It was temporary, and every particle of his being knew it. Steve wanted him. His wanting had been coming off him in warm, relentless waves, like the ocean on a quiet Mexican beach. He wanted him, and he’d have him tonight, maybe tomorrow, surely by the day after that. Tony would wait. He _could_ wait. He’d been jerking off to thoughts of Steve since they’d met, it wouldn’t be anything new to him, but soon, he wouldn’t have to.

He slipped his phone out of his pocket and tapped around on the screen. When he was satisfied, he shot a message to the others: “Allowances officially raised--live a little. BE SAFE." And then, because he couldn’t help it, “Love, Dad & Mom”. Then, a wicked grin on his face, he immediately sent another. “P.S. Let’s keep the dick-pics to a minimum.”

Clint’s reply came back, at once. “My bad.”

Tony laughed and put his phone back into his pocket. He leaned over the table and blew the candles out one by one. He looked at the fire in the hearth. It was nearly burned out, just a blanket of coals and ash. All it needed was a log tossed in and it would start anew, the flames rising, blazing to life again. He started away, then came back and tossed two pieces of hickory onto the coals. 

“Tony?”

He turned away from the growing flames and followed Steve’s voice into the bedroom.

“I’m here.”

Steve was wearing sweatpants and a Yankees t-shirt Tony recognized but hadn’t seen in a long time. He should recognize it--he’d bought it himself. Looking at him, Tony wondered how the fuck they had stayed apart for so long. How did they stand it? Years, weeks, days, Christ, _minutes_ , how had he lived without Steve beside him, his hands on him, his eyes on him? How had he not fallen without Steve to bear him up? How had he not floated away without Steve to tether him?

“Tony? Are you okay?” 

Tony nodded, even though he wondered himself if he _was_ okay. “Yeah, big guy. I’m fine.”

Steve came closer, his eyes roaming over his face, took his hand. “Are you sure? You seem a little out of it.” Those three vertical lines appeared between his eyebrows. Tony suddenly wanted to run his tongue across them, see if he could taste his thoughts.   
  
“It’s just been a long day, and I’m glad you’re here,” Tony said. “I’m glad _we’re_ here.”

Steve’s face softened. “Me too.” His eyes flicked to the bathroom door, then back to Tony’s face. “I was gonna...but let’s just go to bed.”

“Gonna what?”

Steve shrugged and brought a hand up to his own cheek, brushing it across his beard uncertainly.

“Oh,” Tony sighed, his face alight. “Really?”

“We can do it tomorrow.”

“No, this has got to happen now,” he said.

“No, Tony, you’re tired, I’m tired, let’s just--”

“Nope. No more stalling. You’ve been full-on Grizzly Addams long enough.”

Tony laid hold of the handles of the chair and pushed him back into the bathroom. On the counter, laid out like a doctor’s surgical tray, was a towel, a cup with a brush in it, shaving soap, and a straight razor with a black handle.

Tony melted at the sight of it. “God, you were really going to do it, weren’t you? I half-thought you were just saying it to placate me.”

“I told you I would,” Steve said simply.

"People tell each other things all the time,” Tony said, drifting over to touch the items laid out. He petted the towel, dipped his finger into the shaving soap and rubbed it between his fingers, then with a delicate touch, lifted the razor. He opened it and the bathroom light caught the blade, making the keen edge shine.

“Damn,” he whispered. “Do you actually use this?”

Steve touched his face. “Not for the last couple weeks, but usually, yeah.”

“That is crazy sharp.”

“You have to keep it sharp. It’s more dangerous when it’s dull.”

Tony’s eyes ran over the glinting blade. “Have you ever cut yourself?”

Steve nodded. “Not for a long time, though.”

“Did it hurt?”

“A little.”

“But it healed.”

Steve looked at his hands. “Yeah.”

Tony put the razor down. The whole conversation seemed charged with another meaning he had not been aware of until just this moment. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “Maybe we don’t have to do this tonight.”

He started out the door and Steve stopped him with a hand on his hip. The touch was light but insistent, the meaning clear: _please stay_.

“I want to,” Steve said, looking up at him. “It’s okay.”

“You’re tired,” Tony insisted. “Your hand could slip.”

“It’s okay,” Steve repeated. He began to move his thumb gently over Tony’s hip. Just soft, barely-there sweeps, but Tony felt it in his every nerve-ending.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Steve shook his head, that tiny Cheshire Cat smile back on his lips. “It’s okay,” he said for a third time, and his thumb edged under the hem of Tony’s t-shirt so it could touch bare skin. The feeling was like controlled lightning in a bottle.

“Are you sure?” Tony asked. “And if you say ‘It’s okay’ again I’m going to strangle you.”

“It’s alright,” Steve said without missing a beat, and Tony wrapped his hands lightly around his throat, shaking him the slightest bit.

“You’re infuriating.”

“Come on,” Steve said. “Let me do it. Please.”

“You’re asking my permission now?”

Steve nodded without saying a word.

Tony slipped his hands from Steve’s throat and ran them over his beard one last time. Then they moved into his hair and pulled him closer. He kissed his temple. Steve’s grip on his hip tightened, the thumb no longer moving, just pressing now against his skin. It wasn’t painful, but it was deliciously firm.

“Promise you’ll be careful?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“The light’s bright enough? You can see what you’re doing, okay?”

“I could do it in the dark,” Steve replied, “but yes.”

“ _Have_ you done it in the dark?”

“Yeah.”

“Is that when you cut yourself?”

“No.”

Tony sighed, still holding him. “You could use mine.”

Steve’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “I don’t know how to use that electric thing.”

Tony sighed again. He was getting nowhere. “Okay,” he relented, releasing him with one last lingering stroke against his cheek. “Just be careful, huh?”

“I will.”

Tony turned to leave, and Steve caught his hip again. “I thought you were gonna watch.”

He looked at the razor again. It looked innocuous sheathed in its black casing, but the danger was still there, just out of sight. “I don’t want to distract you.”

Steve breathed low laughter, dark like smoked glass. “You won’t distract me. Stay.”

And there was no denying that, Tony found. No defense against him. He didn’t reply, just stepped around the chair and pulled himself up onto the vanity. He settled one foot up, bending the knee and resting his elbow on it. His other leg hung from the counter, foot not quite touching the floor.

Steve splashed his face with hot water, then took the brush and worked the soap into a rich lather. He didn’t look at Tony, didn’t falter under his scrutiny, just used the brush to apply the lather to his face in small circular motions, then picked up the razor.

It was nothing like war. Nothing like a fight or a mission, but watching him use the razor, Tony was reminded forcibly of how he used the shield, not like it was a separate thing, but like it was a part of him, an extension of his own body. There was an easy confidence to the way he used one hand to pull his skin taut before gliding the blade down it in smooth, unhurried strokes, his hands knowing exactly how much pressure to apply, exactly how to angle that shiny, deadly blade to the vulnerable skin of his throat. And that was like the shield, too. It was a peculiar magic, the way he used it, always taking its return as a matter of fact, always just knowing it would be in his hands when he wanted it.

Tony had watched him use that shield in combat hundreds of times, had watched him wield a god’s weapon in Stormbreaker, and had always been in awe of his confidence with it. It was only now, watching the way he handled the razor, that Tony realized it had been more than mere confidence--it was almost arrogance. As if he were willingly tempting the devil himself and didn’t give a fuck if he fought back. Was _hoping_ , in fact, that he would. Not because Steve had anything to prove, but because he wanted the challenge, wanted the fight. And he knew he’d win. Because, of course he would. He would accept nothing less. Nothing less than perfection on his part and complete surrender on his opponent’s.

They spoke only once during this ritualistic act. After the first pass, Steve lathered up a second time.

“Again?” Tony asked quietly.

Steve’s eyes met his for the briefest of moments. “Three times.”

“Okay.”

Then he went back to work.

The third time was a little different. He changed his technique, going against the grain, a little slower, a little more careful, a little more thorough.

Tony felt his pulse quicken. He’d been aware of the low heat in the pit of his stomach since Steve’s thumb had pressed into the jut of his hip bone, aware of it slowly building as he applied the razor to his skin. But now, watching the deliberate, meticulous way he maneuvered it around his jaw and lips, Tony felt his arousal growing dangerously.

He found himself wondering, not for the first time, but surely the most intently, what kind of lover Steve would be. Would he be slow and steady like he was in his day-to-day actions? Careful, considerate, kind, cherishing every touch, every breath, every moan? Or would he be like he was on the battlefield, a caged tiger set free at last to snarl and bite and claw? Smooth muscles flexing, teeth bared, intense, frenzied, doing anything to achieve his goal, winning at whatever cost?

Tony didn’t know, was wild to find out, and torn because he desperately wanted both.

At last, Steve put the razor down. He splashed more water on his face, then used the towel to dry off. When that was done, he tossed it on the counter and looked at Tony. His eyes had lost that focused, haughty glow. They were lighter now, younger, charmed and charming. He smiled.

“Well?” he asked. “Do I pass muster, Sarge?”

Tony leaned forward and touched his face. It was impossibly smooth, impossibly soft. “There’s my man,” he murmured. “I missed that face.”

Steve nuzzled into his palm. “It was always there, Tony.”

“Hmm. I just don’t know why you wanted to cover it up in the first place. You don’t cover the Mona Lisa, Steve.”

Steve kissed his hand, holding it in place as Tony’s thumb stroked his cheek. “No,” he agreed. “You just put it in a climate-controlled, bullet-proof case.” He laughed, his breath warm against Tony’s skin, intoxicating. “Is that what you want to do to me, Tony?”

“I want to do all kinds of things to you,” Tony answered. Then, because his curiosity had been piqued, “Have you ever seen it? The Mona Lisa?”

Steve nodded. “Once.”

“When, during the war? You went to France, didn’t you?”

He pulled away from Tony’s touch, his eyes glazing over. “No,” he said. “Sam and Wanda took me for my birthday one year. I was--” his thumb crept to his mouth and he chewed the nail for a second before continuing. “--having a rough time. Nat wasn’t there, and they wanted to do something nice.”

Tony nodded, stiffening. “Oh.”

“It wasn’t what I expected,” he said. “There were so many people.” He looked up, his face cloudy. “They all had their phones out, Tony,” he said, distress outlining every word. “Why would they do that? Why would they go to see one of the most beautiful things ever created and then belittle it like that?”

Tony shook his head slowly, any trace of iciness he felt at the mention of Steve’s years in exile melting away. “I don’t know, baby,” he said quietly.

“It was...offensive.” He chewed his nail again, worrying the ragged edge between his teeth. “I felt bad. Sam and Wanda were trying so hard to cheer me up, and I pretended it was okay, that I was happy, and I _was_ , Tony, I was. I was happy that they did that for me, but it hurt too. Seeing all those people around, just chattering and taking selfies and stuff. I got so mad.” He smiled around his thumb then took it out of his mouth. “It sounds silly now, doesn’t it? Getting so worked up over such a little thing?”

Tony closed his fingers over Steve’s. There was a tiny bead of blood under his thumbnail. Tony wiped it away gently. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Sometimes stuff like that,” he smiled nervously, ran a hand through his hair, “makes me remember how different I really am.”

“If expecting people to be better makes you different, then maybe we should all try to be a little more different.”

Steve turned Tony’s hand over and kissed his palm, then kissed his wrist. “I love you, Tony,” he said, his lips curving against the delicate skin of Tony’s wrist.

Tony swallowed, his breath catching in his throat at the simple sincerity in those words. “Do you?” he asked.

Steve looked up at him through his lashes. “Yeah,” he said, and it was just a statement of fact, so basic, so fundamental, but volcanic in its implications. “You make everything better.”

In one smooth, fluid motion, Tony slid off the counter and pushed Steve’s knees apart until he was kneeling between them. He grasped the back of his neck, his fingers brushing the ends of his hair, and pulled him close. “Come here,” he said, and sealed their mouths together in a kiss. Tony opened his lips and Steve’s tongue slipped inside fearlessly, licking into the wet heat of Tony’s mouth, running along the smooth velvet lining of his cheek.

Tony kept one hand in his hair, tugging at the golden strands. The other settled on a muscular thigh and slid along it, stopping just short of where he really wanted it, afraid, even with Steve’s arms around him and his tongue in his mouth, of pushing him farther than he was ready to go.

He ran his hand down Steve’s neck and planted it in the middle of his chest. He felt the wild thunder of his heart under the pads of his fingers and pushed him back. It broke the kiss, and Steve looked at him with lust-laced eyes, breathing heavily.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked, and Tony laughed, latching onto his neck, sucking and nipping at it with his teeth before pulling away.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Tony breathed against him, then ran his tongue along the column of his throat. Steve moaned, fisting his hand in Tony’s hair. “I just wondered what the...situation is,” Tony said. “Can you…” He looked at Steve and raised an eyebrow. “ _Can_ you?”

Confusion replaced the desire. “Can I what?”

Tony bit his lip to keep from smiling. It didn’t work. “Steve,” he said, “don’t make me spell it out for you.”

The look of dawning realization was a wonder to behold. As was the pink blush that colored his cheeks. Tony smiled wider, loving the fact that all it took to make Steve blush was hinting at the mention of an erection. It was funny, considering what his hands and mouth had been up to not thirty seconds before.

“Oh,” Steve said, smiling himself now, shyly. “Umm,” he ran a hand through his hair, “yeah, at least I think so.”

“You think so?” Tony teased, running his hand down Steve’s torso.

“Yeah. I mean, I _should_ be able to. I asked Doctor Strange and--”

Tony pulled away fast. “You _what_?” he asked incredulously.

“What?” Steve asked, confused again.

“You asked _Strange_?”

“Well, yeah. He’s my doctor.”

Tony’s face twisted in comical disgust. “Aww, Steve. Gross. I don’t want him knowing about our... _stuff_ ,” he finished, shuddering dramatically.

“What did you want me to do?” Steve asked. “I wasn’t going to ask Shuri. She’s just a kid!”

“Couldn’t you just ask Bruce?”

Steve shook his head. “I don’t want _him_ knowing about our stuff.”

Tony rubbed his face with one hand and drummed the fingers of his other against Steve’s thigh. “Okay,” he said, sighing. “Okay. It’s okay.”

Steve laughed under his breath. “I guess it’s not like they don’t already know.”

“Oh no, they know,” Tony agreed.

“Speaking of, why did I get a bunch of texts earlier saying ‘Thanks, Dad’?”

Tony leaned into Steve’s chest, knocking his head a couple of times against the hard muscle. “And here I thought I was the dad.”

“What are you talking about?”

Tony raised his head, his hand snaking back up around Steve’s neck. “Nothing,” he said. “We raised the kids’ allowances.”

Steve slid his arms back around Tony’s waist. “We did, did we?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“That was nice of us.”

Tony sunk his teeth gently into Steve’s lower lip. “Very nice of us,” he agreed. “But back to the task at hand, so to speak,” Tony said, then pulled back to look Steve warily in the eye. “Just tell me without mentioning him if you can, ‘kay? It’s a real mood-killer. The dude looks like a praying mantis.”

Steve smiled a dark, slow, smile and shook his head. “‘ _Praying mantis_ ’,” he repeated, and his eyes shone like borrowed starlight. “You’re bad, Tony.”

“You have no idea,” Tony whispered, and Steve circled his arms around Tony’s waist, crushing him against his chest and kissed him intently, deeply, like that first night, the first time back at the Tower.

Tony kissed him fervently back, eyes closed, hands in his hair, tongue deep in his mouth. He wished fleetingly, cruelly, that Steve was not stuck in this chair. He hated himself for it, but couldn’t help it, couldn’t help the desire to have Steve’s strong thigh thrust between his own, supporting him while he ground against it.

He pushed the thought roughly away. It would happen. Steve was getting better, was getting stronger, and it would not be long before he would be able to indulge in that fantasy, in all of the fantasies he’d had about Steve over the years, but for now, just having him here, his arms around him, his breath in his mouth, his tongue firm and decisive was enough. More than enough.

“I want you, baby. So much,” Tony whispered, moving to trail hot, wet kisses down Steve’s throat. His pulse was rapid, almost dangerously fast beneath Tony’s lips. He sucked on the pulse-point lightly, the tiny noises coming from Steve’s lips going straight to his cock.

“Tony,” Steve mumbled in his ear. “Hey, umm.”

Tony pulled reluctantly back at the sound of his voice. “What is it?” he asked. “Too much?” Tony was in utter awe of his own ability to keep his voice gentle when his body was in such a state of rampant turmoil. His own heart thundered in his chest; his hands shook. His cock was hot and heavy, straining against his pants. His skin sizzled, especially where Steve’s fingers touched, restlessly moving, leaving him in flames.

“No,” Steve answered, “not too much, it’s just…”

“Tell me. It’s okay.”

Steve swallowed and wet his lips with his tongue. Tony sighed harshly at the sight, wishing it was on him, inside him. “I want you, Tony, I really do, it’s just that I can’t--” he gestured at his legs helplessly. “--I can’t have any weight. On me. I can’t--”

His eyes flared in sudden frustrated anger. His fist was lightning quick, brutally hard, coming down on the arm of the chair with a crash. “I hate this fucking thing!” he cried, his voice filled with savage fury.

Tony stood up fast, his knees popping. The backs of his legs hit the vanity and he sat down, catching himself with his hand. It was a reflex. Only that, just a reflex, but the anger fell out of Steve’s face with an almost audible clap. Cold misery took its place.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his head down, voice cracking with a storm of useless emotion. “Tony, I’m sorry, I--fuck, I can’t, I’m sorry.”

He gripped the wheels of the chair and reversed it out the door. The wheel squealed against the doorframe as it stuck, but Steve shoved harder. It popped free and he spun around and left the room.

Tony watched him go. He wanted to say something, wanted to go after him, but, for the moment at least, he was powerless to do either of those things.

He leaned his head back against the mirror, eyes closed, hands balled into tight fists. His breath felt hot in his throat, tasting metallic with need. He was painfully hard, his cock not minding Steve’s violent outburst at all, deciding, in fact, that an angry Steve was exactly what it needed. Tony wasn’t surprised--ashamed, but not surprised. It had been this way for a long time, coming home after missions, rushing through debrief in Fury’s office so he could get back to the Tower and take care of his raging hard-on in privacy, jerking himself while replaying the mission in his head, the fight, the smoke, the dust, the blood, and everywhere, in his head, in his ears, everywhere, was Steve, Steve, Steve.

Tony jumped to his feet, tearing at his clothes, and fell into the shower. He turned it on, already taking himself in hand. The water spurted out of the shower head, so hot it was nearly scalding, turning his skin red. Tony didn’t even notice. Steam billowed around him while he pumped his cock mercilessly, hate-fucking his own fist with the sight of Steve’s blue eyes, dark with pent-up rage in his head.

It didn’t take long. In what seemed like seconds, Tony came, stifling his grunt of satisfaction by biting into his forearm, leaving a perfect impression of his own teeth in the skin. He stroked himself a couple more times as he came down, drawing out the pleasure by habit, even as his mind filled with self-hatred. What was he doing? Steve was in the other room, hurting, angry, confused, and he was in here jerking off like some horny teenager with no self-control.

He turned the water off and quickly toweled dry. His clothes were in a jumble on the floor. He untangled them and got dressed, pulling his shirt on inside-out, not caring, as he ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t look in the mirror. He didn’t think he could stand to see his reflection right now.

“Steve?” he called, as he left the bathroom. “Baby, where are you?”

The fire was dying out again, the two chunks of wood Tony had thrown onto it reduced to gray ash, but there was still enough light to see Steve. He was curled up on the couch, his broad back to Tony, head pillowed on his own arm. The chair lay on its side, one wheel spinning listlessly, as it Steve had shoved it after he’d gotten out.

Tony tossed another log onto the fire, then took hold of the chair and righted it. There was a dent in one metal arm, the plastic housing shattered. Tony ran his finger over it and sighed.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Go away, Tony.”

“You know I’m not going to do that.”

Steve was silent. He just curled tighter. Tony laid a hand on his shoulder and he flinched, muscles jumping.

“Steve, what happened back there, it’s--”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Tony hated the toneless sound of his voice. There was nothing behind it, no anger, no hurt, just emptiness. For a split second, Tony wished Thanos was here again, just so he could kick him in the nuts. He bit his lip as a desperate, liquid laughter rose up in his throat. He fought it back before it could escape. Letting it out would be beyond cruel. Steve would never understand, and Tony would light himself on fire before doing that to him.

When he trusted himself to speak, Tony said, “Okay. That’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it right now.” He put his hand on Steve’s head, running his fingers through his hair. Steve stiffened beneath the touch but said nothing. “Just come to bed, huh?” Tony went on. “Come on.”

“You go. I’m going to stay out here.”

“I don’t want to be in there by myself,” he said. “This was supposed to be our first night together. Are you really going to make me spend it alone?”

Steve didn’t answer. Tony stood for a moment, just brushing his hand through his man’s hair, feeling its softness between his fingers, the gracious curve of his skull. It was frightening to think that everything that made Steve who he was was contained within that shell. It felt so delicate beneath his hand, so fragile, so easily broken.

A sudden wave of possessive protectiveness swept over him. He needed to keep Steve safe. He needed to guard him against anything and everything that could harm him. He was like a rough jewel and he needed to be watched and protected.

Tony stooped and pressed a kiss to Steve’s temple. “Okay,” he said into his ear. “It’s okay.”

He grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch and laid it over Steve, then he sat down in the recliner. It was old and ugly, but surprisingly comfortable when he popped the footrest out.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked.

“Getting comfortable,” Tony replied.

“Go to bed, Tony.”

“I am. You want to stay out here, we stay out here. Like I said, I’m flexible.”

“That’s stupid. Go in the bedroom.”

“Nah,” Tony said. “I’m good.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Usually do,” he said, and was that a little snort of laughter he’d heard coming from the couch? He thought it might have been.

If he stretched, Tony could just reach Steve’s foot with his own. He nudged him with his toe. “Goodnight, Steve.”

There was nothing for awhile, and Tony had begun to drift off when Steve’s voice said, “‘Night, Tony.” 

Tony smiled in the darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Lord Huron's song "The Night We Met".  
> Thank you for reading! The next story will be coming soon!


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